


no temptation has overtaken you

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College Roommates AU, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4805054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles’ roommate has a lot of sex. Loudly. It’s kind of distracting. </p><p>*</p><p>Stiles waits until Derek leaves to shower before turning to glare at Danny, sizing him up. “Nope,” he decides, “I’m definitely prettier than you.” </p><p>Danny just laughs. Fuck Danny. “Are you trying to convince me, or Derek?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	no temptation has overtaken you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chinchillaatthedisc0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chinchillaatthedisc0/gifts).



Stiles’ roommate might be a sex addict.

Which, whatever. At least someone in their dorm is getting some, because it’s _clearly_ not Stiles. No, Stiles is buried underneath mountains of homework, and, so he’s just a freshman in college, and Derek is a senior, but _still_. Derek spends more time having sex than he does studying. It’s not fair.

But Stiles is handling it. He is. He steals a pair of Derek’s headphones, makes sure to turn his music up on full volume whenever Derek brings another girl home. So Stiles has been listening to a lot of Beyonce lately. So not even Beyonce can fully drown out the sounds of Derek having sex with whichever girl he brought home this week. Whatever. Stiles is handling it.

At least, he’s handling up until Derek stumbles backwards through the door of their apartment style dorm, as he’s prone to doing, with a _guy_ latched onto his hips. And not just any guy; Danny fucking Mahealani, who Stiles _introduced_ to Derek two weeks ago, because, hey, Stiles is just glad there’s _someone_ from back home here at Berkley. His intentions were definitely _not_ to hook up Danny and Derek. He wouldn’t have even let them meet if he’d known this was going to happen—and not _just_ because he and Danny had a thing in high school.

No, this indignation stems from a whole new problem: Stiles Stilinski did not know that his roommate, the very extremely attractive, hot like _burning_ Derek Hale, is bi. And if he _had_ known that, well. Stiles totally would have had dibs.

In conclusion, the night Derek brings home a guy, Stiles completely stops handling the situation. At all. In general. He also doesn’t get much sleep, and if that has anything to do with the fact that he conveniently has to wash his sheets the next morning… Well. No one has to know.

*

Danny is still there the next morning, which is weird, because normally, by the time Stiles wakes up, Derek’s one night stands are either A) long gone, or B) still in Derek’s bed for round two.

But Danny is at the stove, making _pancakes_ , and Derek is sitting on the counter eating them, like they do this all the time. And they don’t; Stiles would know, considering that he, you know, _lives with Derek_.

“Stiles,” Danny greets, raising his hand in a small wave like he’s _not_ standing at Stiles’ kitchen stove in nothing but a pair of boxers (like that’s safe, anyways—Stiles has _burns_ from attempting that shit, okay). “Pancakes?”

Their own high school tryst reminds Stiles that Danny’s pancakes are actually miraculous, so he grudgingly accepts. He can spare a few more minutes before he has to leave for class.

Stiles waits until Derek leaves to shower before turning to glare at Danny, sizing him up. “Nope,” he decides, “I’m definitely prettier than you.”

Danny just laughs. Fuck Danny. “Are you trying to convince me, or Derek?”

Stiles glares harder. If ever there were a moment to find out that the Force is real, and that Stiles possesses it, now would be it. “If you knew I was into Derek, why’d you sleep with him?”

Danny just smirks and rolls his eyes, and Stiles sags back against the table, because, ugh. The Force has failed him again, just like it did in sixth grade when Jackson Whittemore pushed Scott over in the sandbox. Speaking of Jackson, Stiles should probably consult with Danny on the asshole’s bachelor party while Danny’s here…

“Are you telling me that if that piece of ass,” Danny gestures vaguely with a spatula towards the bathroom, where they can hear the shower running, “wanted to fuck you, you’d say no?”

Stiles gapes. “It’s the _bro code_ , Danny. There are _rules_.”

Danny arches a brow. “Did you have dibs?”

Stiles glares. Seriously, fuck Danny. Fuck Derek, too. (God, please.)

*

So, no. Stiles is completely _not_ handling it, and it all comes to a culmination during finals week.

Stiles has been awake for thirty-six consecutive hours, running on coffee and Adderall. He can’t find his iPod, he’s trying to cram for his last final in the morning (only six hours away, now, damn it), and the only things he can hear are Derek’s grunts and a girl’s moans.

Stiles is exhausted, and he’s been studying the Roman Catholic church for hours, and even if the Roman Catholic church is pretty much separated from the traditional Bible, he’s totally blaming his studying for what he does next. And the coffee, and the Adderall, and his own senseless memorization of more or less the entire Bible, and goddamn Derek fucking Hale.

“But I say to you,” he hollers, loud enough that it actually drowns out the sounds for a second, “that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart.”

Silence falls over the apartment, and Stiles is so happy he could _cry_. But just as he turns back to his textbooks, he can hear it; the latest girl giggling, which abruptly turns into moans, and then she’s screaming again, Derek’s soft grunts punctuating each of her cries (and Stiles _hates_ that he knows what Derek sounds like on the brink of an orgasm, but has never even seen the asshole’s dick), and Stiles definitely wants to cry now, but it’s not a happy cry anymore.

“For you may be sure of this,” Stiles continues, straining his voice over the obnoxiously loud sex happening in the next room (and really, does he _need_ to remind Derek how thin the walls are again?), “that everyone who is sexually immoral or impure, or who is covetous, has no inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and God.”

Quiet. Then, laughter from the other room, and seriously, fuck Derek Hale’s existence. Fuck his birth, fuck the birth of his mother. Fuck the alignment of the stars that happened the night Derek Hale was conceived.

“Or do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God?” Stiles hollers, ignoring the laughter. “Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who practice homosexuality—”

The door flies open, and Derek stands shirtless in the doorway, a pretty girl with dark hair and dark eyes laughing behind him in one of Derek’s shirts. “Stiles,” Derek says, voice an exasperated growl, “ _You_ practice homosexuality.”

“Nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God,” Stiles finishes, and fixes Derek with a glare. “Guess we’re all going to hell here, huh?”

Derek shakes his head, eyes raised heavenward, and Stiles feels a vicious sense of pride at having pissed him off. Behind Derek, the latest girl is still snickering, and she ducks around Derek to throw herself on the couch, giving Stiles a view of creamy, exposed thigh and lace panties.

“I’m Paige,” she says, in a low, sweet, southern drawl. “Derek never mentioned his roommate was a Bible thumper.” She gives him a sweet grin, though, and Stiles thinks she’s probably joking. He’s kind of distracted by the moles on her cheeks, tracing up the inside of her sprawled thighs. If his moles are half as obscene as hers, no _wonder_ Malia was so obsessed with them when they dated over the summer.

Derek is still glaring at him. “I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” he snaps, shaking his head, and, the thing is, Stiles _totally is_. He’s also totally ogling the shirtless miracle that is Derek _and_ the pantsless miracle that is Derek’s one night stand. He has absolutely no regrets.

“I am, thank you,” Stiles says, trying to pretend he’s not totally turned on by the scene before him. “Now I can actually study for my history final, which I’m taking in like, six hours, thanks, without having to listen to you two going at it like fucking wolves or something.”

Stiles’ actual knowledge of the mating habits of wolves is slim. He makes a mental note to google them later, when he actually has time for a lengthy Wikipedia-spiral and doesn’t have a final in the morning. Which, speaking of.

Stiles whirls back around in his chair, facing the texts books sprawled out in front of him on the desk. He gets maybe a sentence or two in before Paige and Derek start talking.

“How’s your family, by the way?” she asks, in that same slow drawl of hers. “I still talk to Laura sometimes, but it’s been ages since I’ve heard from Cora or Nathan.”

“They’re good,” Derek grunts. “Laura’s in art school, Cora just started her senior year of high school, and Nathan is in drama at school now.”

“Aww,” Paige croons. “Nat’s what, fourteen now? Fifteen? That’s adorable. I bet he’s got all the boys and girls in the drama department chasing after him.”

Derek lets out what might actually be a playful growl, and Stiles pushes around in his spinny chair to take in the soft lines of Derek’s face, unable to help but adore the way Derek’s whole face smooths out when he talks about his family. “He’s got three siblings to keep the drama geeks in check.”

Derek catches Stiles’ gaze, and his brow furrows, his face walling up again. Stiles scowls at him and prays his face wasn’t doing something stupid and mushy at the sight of a content Derek. “Dude, are you really going to have a conversation with your one night stand _now_? _Here_? I’m trying to study.”

Derek bares his teeth at him. “I’m catching up with my ex-girlfriend. Fuck off.”

“It’s _three a.m._ ,” Stiles exclaims, flinging his hands up in the air and sending his highlighter careening across the room. “No one should even be awake right now if they’re not in study-crisis mode!”

“Shit,” Paige says, rubbing her eyes. “Is it really three? Jesus. I’ve got to head out, Derek. My flight leaves at ten, and I haven’t even packed yet.” She pats Derek’s bare stomach, and Stiles pretends it doesn’t _do things_ to him to think about licking up the ridges of Derek’s abdomen.

“I’ll walk you out,” Derek says, rising to his feet, and they disappear back into Derek’s room.

When they reemerge, Paige is in jeans and sneakers, Derek’s shirt swapped for a dark sweater, and Derek is (unfortunately) wearing a shirt. She waves at Stiles as they head out, and Stiles can hear voice as they leave the apartment, a soft, “It’s probably for the best that he interrupted us. We’re better as friends.”

Stiles can’t quite catch Derek’s reply, but in the silence that rings throughout the apartment after they leave, he kind of misses having some kind of sound in the room other than his own breath.

When Derek comes back, Stiles is only a little bit further into his reading, but he’s strongly considering giving up in favor of getting some actual sleep.

“Stiles,” Derek says, arms folded over his chest, head tilted to the side as he studies him.

Stiles arches a brow. “Sorry for ruining your hookup, man. You guys were pretty loud, though.”

Derek snorts softly, shaking his head, running a hand through the scruffy beard on his face that is so goddamn endearing to Stiles. He wants that beard to be the reason for the beard burn on his neck, on his thighs, his ass…

“You were shouting Bible verses at me,” Derek says. “You don’t even believe all of that stuff you were saying.”

Stiles shrugs. “What can I say, I was desperate. And I’ve spent too many night with my hand on my dick, listening to your very active sex life and trying to imagine your ‘o’ face, instead of studying like I’m supposed to. Tonight had to be different.”

Derek’s mouth falls open, eyebrows arching high on his forehead, and Stiles spends a couple seconds wondering why he looks so surprised before his words catch up to his brain.

“Oh, shit,” he says eloquently. Derek stares at him.

“You’re…interested?” Derek asks, sounding awed. “In _me_?”

Now he sounds self-deprecating. Stiles wants to smooth away that furrowed brow with kisses. “Uh, duh, dude,” Stiles says, fiddling with his pencil. “You’re kind of, like, hot like burning? And you make this stupidly adorable face when you talk about your family. And when you’re about to come, dude, you make this _sound_ —”

Jackson’s fiancé, Stiles’ queen and goddess Lydia Martin, discovered in high school that the quickest way to shut Stiles up was to kiss him. What took her years of trial and error to discover takes Derek two seconds. But later, sated in Derek’s bed and draped over Derek’s immaculate chest, after having done every sinful, illicit thing to those abs that ever crossed Stiles’ mind, nothing can stop the words that tumble out of his mouth.

“Behold, you are fair, my love,” he crows, and Derek groans. “Behold, you _are_ fair!”

Derek bites at his bottom lip gently, and returns in a soft voice, “You have ravished my heart with one look of your eyes, with one link of your necklace. How fair is your love.”

Stiles pushes himself upright, gaping down at Derek. “You have The Song of Solomon memorized?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “You’re not the only one who can quote the Bible, Stiles.” He pulls Stiles back down against his side, and Stiles lets him, but only because he wants to.

“But—” he begins, but Derek cuts him off.

“Shh,” he says, “Sleep.”

And, well. Stiles has a history final in three hours and what might be a new boyfriend. Sleep sounds pretty damn good right now.

*

Stiles’ boyfriend might be a sex addict. But, whatever. Stiles can totally handle it. (Sexual innuendo definitely intended.)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from 1 Corinthians 10:13. I’m probably going to hell for writing this.
> 
> Dedicated to Chinchillaatthedisc0, who asked for, “a roommate AU where one of them starts reading bible verses loudly cause the other is having loud obnoxious sex in his room.” She wanted Cherik, but we both agreed Sterek was way better for the prompt, and suddenly, this was born.


End file.
